


The Contract

by Rosehip



Series: Strange Luck [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Crow training sucks and so does howe, Gen, Strong Language, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: Arl Howe meets Zevran. Neither of them is impressed. A deal is struck anyway, and honestly it doesn't matter what Loghain thinks about it.





	The Contract

Zevran perched upon the wall outside window of his contact's private study within the palace. He knew the man to have an entire estate to himself, but somehow needed rooms here as well? A pleasant enough room it was, for Ferelden. Plush rugs and thick tapestries in bold, expensive, and mismatched colors kept the chill at bay. The furnishings spoke of wealth, but not taste. Whoever decorated it had purchased what was fine and costly, not what they liked. The fire crackled merrily in a stout hearth.

Zevran saw the moment the contact knew of his presence. To give the man credit, he realized it sooner than many would have. Zevran slipped in the window and formally bowed. “Arl Howe, I presume?”

“What would you do if I were not?” How looked at Zevran and obviously found him lacking. “In this part of the world, it is more conventional to enter by the door.”

“You did not pay a king's ransom for convention, did you?”

Good though the man was, something about Zevran's words startled Howe. Zevran reflexively filed the information away for future use.

“I suppose I did not.” Without ever turning his back on Zevran completely, Howe opened a drawer from his heavy oak desk and produced two sheets of parchment. “To business, then. These are your targets.”

Zevran accepted the wanted posters. They'd been printed by one of the dwarven presses and hand tinted. One depicted an enormous human with a dull-witted expression. Tan skin, strawberry-blonde hair, brown eyes. The words beneath the drawing described him as a warrior of great strength, to be approached with caution. The other poster depicted a long-haired elf who looked simultaneously sinister and effeminate. He had pale skin, dark brown hair, and light eyes. It named him a dark sorceror and possible bloodmage. Zevran committed the descriptions to memory and handed the sheets back.

Howe continued. “They are responsible for a disastrous and treasonous betrayal.”

“I do not need the details.” The impending pile of lies could only muddy the situation.

“Very well. Their last known location was the battle at Ostagar. They appear to have slipped off into the Wilds. Rumours of their presence to the south have reached us, but I can tell you little more than that. I take it this will not be a problem?”

“Not at all. I can find them with the information you have given me.” In fact, so far, Zevran swore the only truth given had been the targets' coloring, build, and southerly location. They might also have one mage and one swordsman between them. Probably.

Zevran preferred to be on his way, thank-you-very-much, but Howe had not finished with him. “You must be aware, of course, that failure will displease us greatly. Should that happen, your own life will be longer than you will wish.”

Zevran laughed without humor. “Yes, this is the customary price for failure, but you may not be the one to charge me. Should I fail and survive, my Masters will be even more cross with me than yourself.”

“Then if you fail, you had best hope you don't survive.”

That is indeed the plan. I hope these fellows are at least half as scary as the broadsheet artist made them. I will not die broken within sight of your stiffening cock. I know your type. Oh, yes.

Howe led him through the less populated corridors of the palace to meet the regent in his study. The regent had to 'hire' Zevran for form's sake, and believe his opinion on the subject mattered. Zevran had enough familiarity with Antivan politics to read the room. Howe “helped” Loghain with his problems in such a way that he solidified his own position. Someday soon, however, his position would be solid enough. If Loghain could see beyond his troubles of the moment, he would know to hire me for you, Howe.

Whatever. Not his problem, and soon, nothing would be. Still, Zevran got away from those two as quickly as decorum allowed. He preferred his end to be simple.


End file.
